Part I
The call came in as a working fire, not a regular. It was unique only in that it was a middle of the day call; otherwise the weather was clear, nothing special.
As we approached the scene, we saw smoke had traveled all the way to a landmark county building, about two blocks from the scene, and was banked really low. It smelled and looked like house fire smoke; if we weren’t sure before that we had a significant fire, that cleared it up.
First on the scene, my engineer positioned us to prepare for line deployment and water supply. My firefighter prepared to pull the line while I started my 360. This was a standard ranch style, all houses in this area are around 1,200-1,300 sq. ft – situation normal.
Moving to the north side of the house, I came to a six-foot chain-link fence at the (AD) northeast corner that looked like a dog enclosure next to an attached garage, so I turned to go back around the south side and complete my size up. Once I got to the back (BC) southwest corner of the house, I encountered another fence and saw a setback: a large detached garage and a ton of smoke. I decided – correctly and based on all that smoke – that the fire was in the back of the house. I turned back around and met back up with my firefighter to enter through the front door.
We masked up and with our charged 1 ¾”, we went in. Right away, we ran into a ton of heat and smoke. Having entered a living room, we worked our way in, knowing we had to get to the seat of the fire in the back. Pitch black and full of smoke, we found a doorway, no door, that was basically a straight line from the front door. Not entirely sure if that would take us to the fire or not, I parked my firefighter there with the line while I did a quick check to the left toward the B side of the house. Pretty quickly the heat let up and I could see better; I was in a short hallway with at least two rooms off of it. I could see out some windows and saw another officer outside. Obviously, this wasn’t going to lead us to the fire. Our truck crew was coming in behind us and would do the primary.
My firefighter was where I left him, about 15 feet back at the doorway. He sent water into that unknown back room, probably a kitchen/dining room, and we began our progress toward the fire I knew was at the back of this house, spraying as we went.
Nothing happened. That didn’t make sense, the back of the house is right there – where the hell was this thing?
Nothing cooled off, no obvious flames showed themselves, nothing.
But the heat? Yeah, it did something.
We got lower and lower, the heat became a solid thing shoving us down. You can only make yourself so flat.
I told my firefighter to back out and next thing we see are flames, they were sudden and came out of nowhere. They were from the ceiling and seemed to bank all the way to the floor as we backed, belly flat, back through that doorway. I saw the truck crew and told them to get out, we all needed to get out. A second later, command ordered an evacuation over the radio. I didn’t know what he could see or how he knew, but that thought was way in the back of my mind.
We crawled out of that house … and we crawled to the engine in the street … and we crawled across the street. Only then were we able to see through the smoke enough to feel like we could remove our regulators and breathe without them. The smoke was everywhere, the cops and medic crew were coughing and hacking.
What in the hell was that?
Part 2
Everything was chaotic.
We are a proud department. Proud, but not stupid. We risk only what makes sense, we save what can be saved – and we save a lot. We don’t easily back down, but we aren’t careless. We don’t just “burn a house to the ground” unless there is no choice. We save all that we can, but first and foremost, we don’t get anyone hurt at fires.
But this thing. Around 25 years in the fire service at this point, and it was a new one for me.
There’s an important lesson in that. But I’ll get to lessons later.
Once we were across the street and were able to remove our masks, doing a quick rehab, we took a minute to get our bearings. Our Division Chief had already called for a second alarm.
Another engine crew had gotten through the back fencing and extended a line to the south/rear (C) of the house where they knocked the fire from the outside. It is generally unheard of to go from an interior attack to an exterior attack then pivot back to an interior, but this was one exception. We ultimately did this. (Amazingly, the house was saved, the damage repaired.)
With fresh bottles, we retraced our steps from the front door, straight across and back through the interior door we had just bailed backwards and belly down out of not 10 minutes before. I was stunned.
The fire was mostly knocked by the time we went back in with our original attack line. We hit the rest of the fire then – contents were burning up and down, but there was no active structure fire. This is also when we were able to see what we had been blind to.
What I thought was probably a kitchen fire and in what I assumed had to be the kitchen proved to be half right. We were in a kitchen/dining combination area and the walls were black, but the fire started much farther back.
Picture this, our original attack on the fire:
- We were at this doorway
- We were blind, nothing new there
- Process of elimination said this had to be the kitchen area
- We send water into the room, moving as we go
- We hear water hit the ceiling but then nothing. It was like the water disappeared. No bounce back, no fire, nothing
- And it was f*cking hot
- Suddenly the fire seemed to light off
- We bailed
All of that happened in maybe half a minute, probably less.
Now, we are at our second attempt.
Now we can see a lot better.
Through this doorway was the kitchen area, yes.
What we didn’t expect to see straight across from the doorway was this large opening, from midway up the wall to just below the ceiling. That makes no sense if the backyard is past that wall. But things were starting to make sense to me. And I didn’t like it.
Our first water launch had gone into no man’s land after it hit the ceiling, the stream breaking up.
Through this opening was not the backyard, but a massive addition to the house. Had to be bigger than the huge unattached garage, maybe 24 x 24.
Later, you could see everything in the kitchen area lit off while we were in it. That was the sudden flare up we saw. The only “clear” space was no more than two feet up from the floor. That two feet was the difference between us standing up and walking out. Or sucking mud.
I don’t like to think about it; I have to and I do, but I don’t like it.
A few points that were serious issues that would have, more than likely, mitigated this fire sooner:
- I made an assumption this house was the standard for the established neighborhood. This is what we mean when we say the size-up starts en route. I knew this neighborhood and I knew what the average size and layout was. That house would be somewhere between 1,100 – 1,300 sq. ft. But there was an extension in the back to create a huge family room, so 1,200 sq. ft effectively became a 2,000 sq.-ft home
- My 360 was more of a 270
- TIC? Sitting in the cab of the engine hanging off my seat
I made mistakes. I’m really good at my job, I know this. But I got complacent and my firefighter got hurt. He didn’t get hurt “bad” – the top of his ear was burned – but I don’t give a shit about that. He got hurt and he shouldn’t have. He was my responsibility and he trusted me.
I assumed I knew the neighborhood and the types of houses in it. That set a tone for me that I leaned into.
The 360 didn’t get done. I should have confirmed my en-route size up, but I didn’t complete my first on-scene task. This would have told me there was an addition, and a large one. This would have altered our initial attack plan.
I didn’t have my TIC, which at the very least would have shown me how extreme the temperature was in that room.
Thank God, this isn’t some full LODD investigation. I can never control what anyone else or any other crew does good or bad, I can only control my own.
I doubted myself for a while and did not want to talk about this fire. Days later, the crew I was working with asked me to take them through the house. My engineer that day had listened to the working fire call when it came in and told me it was hard to listen to; you could tell things were going sideways by my tone because “you never sound like that.”
I took them to the house and that same engineer filmed our walk-through. I didn’t know she was doing it at the time, but I was glad she did. The whole thing was eye-opening, it clarified things, both going back through the house that day and going back to watch the video. Young members of my department started coming to me more and more to ask about it.
I later had the opportunity to share this with a class. I know we can all make mistakes, I know we don’t want to and we can only hope and pray that when we do, the consequences are relatively minor, like they were for me here. For me, when I made mistakes that day, I learned valuable lessons.
- Don’t get arrogant.
- When you can confirm what you already “know,” then do it.
- Listen to your gut, not your ego, and lean into your training and experience.
- Your tools are there for a reason. The fire service has learned from past tragedies and invents tools all the time to assist us in an incredibly dangerous job. Train with them. Use them.
- No matter how long you’re at this, you’ll learn new things about the job and yourself.
- When you have the opportunity to heed those lessons and share them, do it.
This fire humbled me. Maybe they all should, but they all don’t. This one did and I’m grateful it didn’t end worse. I learned a lot of lessons that day.
And I want to share those lessons instead of taking them with me in silence.
Ryan McCarty is a respected veteran of the fire service. Still on the job at 48, Ryan began in the fire service at age 15 and has been a professional firefighter for the last 28 years. Every one of those years has been with the Urbana Fire Department in Urbana, Ill., where he is currently a captain.
